


You can't always get what you want (But I can)

by CulterVenatorius



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Crack, M/M, Omega Will Graham, Sassy Will Graham, Someone Help Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-07-01 21:38:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15782610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CulterVenatorius/pseuds/CulterVenatorius
Summary: You think omegas are weak little things? Let me tell you a story and we will see what your opinion will be afterwards. It's a story of a sassy omega not only subduing a thoroughbred alpha but also embarrassing the Chesapeake Ripper. It's the story of me, Will Graham, and a certain Doctor Hannibal Lecter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a sassy omega Will. The rest just sorta happened.  
> English isn't my first language, I'm afraid there will be plenty of mistakes. You are very welcome to point them out!

**Chapter 1**

 

You think omegas are weak little things? Always being sweet and docile and waiting for an alpha to fuck and breed them, unable to resist their knot, always begging for it? Well, it might be this way during our heats. I give you that. But as to the rest, that's just stupid common ignorance of you betas, the alphas doing little to rectify.

Let me tell you a story and we will see what your opinion will be afterwards. It's a story of a sassy omega not only subduing a thoroughbred alpha but also embarrassing the Chesapeake Ripper. It's the story of me, Will Graham, and a certain Doctor Hannibal Lecter.

***

It all started when Jack Crawford forced me to go to therapy. He is the role model of an asshole boss, bending everything and everyone to reach his goals or - how he calls it - 'for the greater good'. It's not that I was impressed or even frightened by his arrogant alpha behavior. But I wanted to do my fucking job. Do you know how hard it is to get to a position as mine in the FBI? Probably not. Betas (not to mention alphas) don't have to fight the same inequalities as omegas. God knows why the most conservative, closed-minded people work for the authorities. However, this is why I agreed and went to the good doctor.

Have you ever seen his office? It practically screams pomposity. I mean, who needs that many chairs (probably some Louis the umpteenth shit) and a mezzanine for their books? Yeah, you're sophisticated Lecter, we got it.

But I have to admit that I really enjoyed our conversations. It wasn't exactly therapy and we both knew it. You don't become one of the most respected psychiatrists in Maryland through asking about one's mother like you were Freud's untalented little brother. No, it was kind of a verbal sparring with someone who not only accepted and understood my fucked up brain but added more darkness to it. And that was his first mistake. There are only so many times you can mock the FBI until someone gets a clue. Of course, Hannibal still insists it was all due to my empathy. Well, I leave it up to you whom to believe.

 

Anyway, he wasn't as subtle as he thought he was. In the very beginning, there was this moment when the creep actually SMELLED me. What the fuck? Okay, so there were three possibilities:

a) Normal alpha bullshit like checking for one's next heat 

b) My aftershave really is that terrible 

c) There's something really wrong with me.

Everyone seems to forget on a regular basis that I'm a fucking profiler for the fucking FBI. They don't employ kiddos, you know? So it wasn't that difficult. The good doctor would find it incredible rude to smell someone like a hormone driven teenager which means answer a) is excluded. It can't be b) either because my aftershave perfectly underlines my natural scent. And it has a ship on the bottle. Have you ever seen an aftershave with a ship on the bottle that smells bad? I thought so. That leaves us to c). And you know what? There is this weird new thing called Google. Remember when the German chancellor called the internet an uncharted territory for all of us? I guess that applies to Hannibal. It took me two minutes and thirty-four seconds to find an article about hyperosmia. On the fucking second search engine result page. Scarcely anybody has ever been there. It's like the dark net. But as I said: I work for the FBI.

From there, it wasn't a big step to the conclusion that the good doctor had gained some medical information about me. Since he'd said nothing I went to Alana. Sweet Alana who is always so concerned about me. And since she did her residency at the John Hopkins - and I suppose with some flirting or ethical threat, probably the latter - I got an appointment with a neurologist in no time. And ta-dah! Encephalitis.

Two weeks and a ton of antivirals later I was the old Will Graham again. Another two weeks and three Ripper kills later I got a strong suspicion about the identity of said killer. There had been some not so small clues and I still wonder why Jack or Alana never have gotten them. Well, at least _I_ have an excuse: My fucking brain was on fire.

It went like this: I told Doctor Lecter about the encephalitis and the treatment. Of course he played the _oh so innocent_ doctor. 'I must sincerely apologize, Will. I failed you as your psychiatrist and as a friend.' My ass. Of course Alana 'I want to fuck you since my residency at John Hopkins' Bloom and Jack 'keep that little profiler of mine working' Crawford believed him. Especially since Hannibal 'I will cut into your brain with my outstanding sharp cheekbones' Lecter invited us all to dinner to celebrate my recovery.

Here are the hints I collected during that evening:

\- bones and skulls as centerpiece

\- morbid paintings

\- at least two cannibalistic puns per course

\- ~~hot ass!~~

\- more morbid paintings

\- transferred his passion for organs from the ER to the kitchen

\- really, who eats that much offal?

\- thinly veiled interest in the Ripper case

\- very thinly veiled interest in the profiler working on said case

Doesn't need a FBI profiler to draw a connection to an organ collecting, deadly art creating, medical trained murderer with a knack for presumptuous presentations, does it? Now, I needed evidence.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo so many mistakes. I'm sorry. I'm trying to find a beta reader. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy reading.

**Chapter 2**

 

Evidence - I needed an hour or two alone in his house. Fortunately, it was the week of Lecter's birthday. Since he loves the opera – pretentious prick he is – I bought two tickets to a piece which was already sold out. He'd complained about it a few weeks ago. It wasn't exactly difficult to get the tickets. All I had to do was to have a little chat with a member of the managing board. “Sir, I am _absolutely_ sure that there are two tickets with my name on it. Could you please check again? Maybe they are on your desk under the notes about the embezzled funds?”

 

Doctor Lecter was delighted, even more so because he would have – I quote – “such a lovely and inspiring company”. I might have considered accompanying him for three to ninety seconds. Not because I like the opera and _definitivel_ y not to spend an evening with the most handsome alpha ever. No, just to see him dumbfounded when he's confronted with a clean shaven Will Graham in a nice suit and tamed curls. But he could have mistaken this as flirting. Which it wouldn't have been. _Definitively_ not. So I ended up calling him at the day of the opera, three hours before we were supposed to meet. 'Winston is ill *sniff, sniff* my poor baby. *sob, sob*' The sad little omega trick always works. So I ended up telling him that no, he doesn't need to come, that yes, he is a doctor of the human body, but no, not of the canine and that I insist that he goes to the opera without me.

 

***

 

I didn't even wait until the opera started. I knew that the pretentious nice smelling bastard always uses every chance to show off (aka 'socialize'). Breaking in wasn't exactly difficult. The overconfident little shit uses locks a drunk squirrel could pick.

So... where would _you_ start searching for a hidden room? I couldn't believe how obvious he was. The basement – seriously? But one has to admit: Hiding in plain sight often seems to work. The cellar itself was as pristine as the rest of the house. The metallic sort of operation table hadn't a single lime spot or fingerprint on the surface. Well – I guess a fingerprint wouldn't be your biggest problem if someone finds your people butchery.

There also were freezers, filled with human steaks. That's what really killed me, metaphorically speaking. I'd never thought the doctor would eat defrosted goods. Someone who grows their own herbs in the fucking dinning room eats non-fresh meat? Well, _that's_ what I would call a dirty little secret. Maybe you're wondering why I didn't immediately call Jack Crawford. Well... what would have happened? No one could declare me insane when confronted with these pile of evidence. But then what? They would have taken Hannibal...err, Doctor Lecter...into custody. And I would have never gotten the chance to take my personal revenge on him. In case I have to remind you again: He. put. my. fucking. brain. on. fire. Or at least didn't anything to soothe my heat (I'm talking about my brain, you little pervs). What would have been more just than letting him question his own sanity? Lucky for me, he has this little OCD. So why don't have a little fun with that? I went on with my mission and moved each and every object in his murdery hobby room exactly 1.3 inches to the left.

Then I headed home. Straightly. I didn't snoop around in the rest of his house, especially not in his bedroom. I definitively didn't steal a red sweater amazingly smelling of thoroughbred alpha and _Hannibal_.

 

The next appointment, two days later, was a hell of a fun. Of course, I couldn't have been sure that he'd been in his basement since. But apparently, he was. When he opened the door I saw the first sign. Most people probably wouldn't have noticed, but there was a light twitch in his left eye and he looked a little bit disheveled. Apart from that, he had his usual composed bearing. Nevertheless, I had a hard time to fight a sly smile. But I managed to look somehow guilty.

“I'm really sorry for canceling, doctor Lecter. I hope you enjoyed the opera?”

“No need to apologize, dear Will.” (Huh... _dear_ Will).

“Although I would have enjoyed introducing you to the opera, I had some lovely company. Doctor Bloom was so kind to accompany me at short notice. She appreciates the music and we had a delightful discussion about the performance.”

All I could think was _What the actual fuck? That wasn't how it was supposed to be. How dares she to take my place?_ Not that I would have cared, in fact, she unknowingly helped me with my design. Though it seemed kinda rude of the doctor to tell me about... _oh_. I realized what he was doing. He was trying to make me jealous, obviously assuming that I wanted to have been in his place. As if! (If anything, I would have wanted to be in _her_ place.) It was just another manipulation attempt from that bitchy alpha. Well, two could play this game. I gave a little sigh and tried to seem very interested in the pattern of dog hair on my shoes.

“I bet it was. Alana really is wonderful. It's so kind that she is always concerned about my well-being. And...” I giggled a little bit “...she's very kissable.”

Mister nice cheekbones darted a look at me as if he' d bitten in a lemon, or, well, in an lemon tree grower. That's what you get from fucking an empath ( _brain_ fucking. I'm talking about my brain, for god's sake).

“I think I'm beginning to see her as a source of stability. She helps me to sort my thoughts. I'm finally starting to bring … in the chaos. You know, starting to organize the mess my brain is. It feels so nice to have a precise structure, like everything is in it's right place, accurately put in relation to everything else.”

 Ha! You should have seen his face. If he had looked moping before, now he looked outright _pissed_. He straightened his jacket and fiddled with his cuff links until they were in an exact rectangular angle to the pattern of his plaid jacket. When he started to talk about the latest case I allowed him to change the subject.

 

When I left, it came into my head, that he hadn't even asked about Winston. Well, _that_ was rude. And as the saying goes: Whenever feasible, one should always try to fool the rude. Later that evening I sat in a pile of dogs, sipping my whiskey (it _was_ sipping. Everything is sipping if you need more than one gulp) and working out my plan. It had started well, there had been the first signs of unease. Still, he was far from getting the full encephalitis experience. But the next step was already forming in my head.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have an OCD. I know that it isn't accurately described and I want to state that I know that this is a serious issue. I have to deal with several mental issues myself and I really don't want anyone to feel laughed at. But let's be honest: We are fandome that loves psychopathic cannibalistic serial killers and (at least in the crackish fics) makes fun about empathy disorder. Don't take this too serious. Apart from that: Sometimes, a little morbid humor helps to endure our issues, doesn't it?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. Next update might take a while. Currently, I'm working on my final exam and planning my best friend's wedding. It takes a fucking unbelievable amount of time to write in a foreign language. Nevertheless, I had fun writing it.  
> And thank you so much for your kudos and comments. I'm a stunned that there are people out there actually reading this.
> 
> Um...why does the end note from the first chapter appear as end note to this chapter? Wellcome to my world of stupidity. Anyone able to help me?

**Chapter 3**

 

 

What is the most annoying thing in Hannibal Lecter's life? Running out of fancy ass wine that cost more as a FBI teacher’s monthly salary? Missing the latest collection of paisley ties? Getting a bad review of his latest kill from Freddy Lounds? Not quite. The answer is: One of his patients. Not _me_ of course! First, I'm not his patient and never was, we were simply having conversations. Second, how could he possibly be annoyed by me? I'm a polite, courteous person with just the right amount of dog hair on my clothes. Obviously, I'm talking about Franklyn Froidevaux. Despite doctor-patient confidentiality I knew a thing or two about him. Come on guys and gals, Lecter is a cannibalistic serial killer (and sexy as hell at that), no point in acting shocked about this breach of medical ethics. Apparently, he was Franklyn’s umpteenth referral and target number one in his endeavor to (unknowingly) befriend a psychopath. Franklyn also liked cheese and had the world's most obvious crush on his dear psychiatrist. For that I couldn’t blame him. After all, the doctor _is_ a handsome alpha with the sexy cheekbones and firm butt, not to mention his well muscled body and the soft hair that downright cries out for being rumpled up... *sighs*

I knew that our good doctor was running out of patience with Franklyn and was about to give him a referral. The poor guy presented the perfect situation to kill two birds with one stone. First, we, who have a obsession with a certain alpha (and this includes you as well, dear reader) have to stick together, don’t we? Okay, well, I wouldn’t have used him if he had been a serious threat for my plans to tap... ahem, I mean to _trap_ Lecter. Second, who if not Franklyn would be the most unlikely person to try becoming the Chesapeake Ripper’s killer buddy? Making our little murder muffin believe that Franklyn would be the one should be another reason for him to question his own sanity.

The plan was simple: I had to cast a glance in Lecter’s appointment book to find out when Franklyn’s next appointment would be. Unfortunately, my not-really-psychiatrist never left me alone in his office. But it wouldn’t have been me if I hadn’t one or another ace up my sleeve. Thanks to his pretentiousness we often had a glass of wine during our conversations. All I had to do was playing the jittery little omega, a little nervous due to the presence of a well-built thoroughbred alpha. So I spilled my pinot noir on my button down. Whoops! A little blushing and a mumbled apology later, Lecter left the room to fetch a towel. Or so I assmued. I went to his desk, took a picture of his appointments and headed back to my chair just in time. The doctor came back, not bringing a towel, but a burgundy button down. At my somewhat dumb facial expression he explained

“I always have spare clothes in my office. A habit I kept from my days as a surgeon. You might be more comfortable in it than in a garment smelling of alcohol. It might be a little too big for you, but it will suffice, if you don’t mind?”

If I didn’t mind? Was he serious? I changed in the bathroom and we continued our conversation. That I was blushing all the time was of course part of my game and _definitively not_ due to a warm feeling because of a certain alpha providing for me. This night, I slept in his shirt to get to know his scent. Because a hunter needs to know the scent of his prey, doesn’t he? Strangely, I had the best sleep in ages and a oddly feeling of comfort.

The next step was to manipulate Franklyn. I went to our psychiatrist’s office during his next appointment and broke into his car. One learns all kind of useful stuff when working as a police officer. Unfortunately, that doesn’t include shooting at persons when being stabbed in your shoulder. Anyway, I stole a sweater, put it in an evidence bag an sealed it. I waited in my car, parked to corners away, and followed Franklyn after his appointment. He went to a gourmet food cheese store. I walked in and when he selected some piece of cheese only weirdos could name, I set my little manipulation in motion.

“Oh, that’s Hannibal’s favorite cheese!”

He turned to me. “Pardon me?”

“Um, well, I probably shouldn’t say that but... you are Franklyn Froideveaux, aren’t you?”

Franklyn looked at me somewhat confused. “I believe I have seen you at Han... doctor Lecter’s office, Mr...?”

“Graham, Will Graham.” I had to hide a smirk about Franklyn not being able to hide his jealousy of the first name base he thought I was with Lecter. “But please, call me Will, since I’ve already overstepped your boundaries, for which I’m truly sorry” (not at all). “It’s just... I’m a friend of Hannibal and I thought since fortunate circumstances made me run across you... Err, well, I probably shouldn’t say that, it’s... no. I don’t think so... just...”

Franklyn’s gazed at me as curious and excited as a puppy with a new toy. I had him, hook, line and sinker. The poor cheese connoisseur couldn’t resist prying. “What did he say about me?”

“Okay, I’ll tell you. But... maybe we could relocate to a more secluded place?” I cast a nervous look behind me. “It’s about private things.”

Franklyn didn’t hesitate and didn’t even buy his cheese. Well, if that didn’t say something about his interest in his psychiatrist. We sat in a little coffee shop where I picked a napkin to pieces to demonstrate uncertainty.

“Hannibal is a psychiatrist, but when it comes to his own feelings... well... I tell you this because I trust you. From what he told me about you, you are a very kind and refined person and wouldn’t stain someone’s reputation because of their feelings, would you?”

“No!” Franklyn seemed rather shocked by the thought of doing _anything_ that could upset the good doctor.

“You see... Hannibal is very interested in you. And I mean not just because you’re his patient. I... uhm... He is your psychiatrist, but he wants you to be his friend... or more. It makes him sad that he has to make you pay to see him. The other night, I went over to him and he sat in his living room and was listening to Michael Jackson and then he burst into tears, and his eyes were burning even two hours later just talking about it. You know what he told me? That he thinks the saddest thing about him dying is that he will never get to meet him, and he feels like if he were his friend that he would have been able to help save him from himself. It’s similar to his feelings for you. He _wants_ to help you, but not only as a psychiatrist but as a friend... or maybe more than a friend. But he is too professional to make a move.”

Franklyn downright beamed at that. “So... You think I should ask him out for a date?”

“Oh my god, no! He would refuse. You have to be more subtle. You should talk about what you like, make suggestions. I tell you about another secret because I really want to help him. He suffers so much.”

Franklyn leaned forward in what I think he thought to be a conspiratorial way.

“He would never tell someone but sometimes he appreciates the simple things. Do you want to know what his favorite meal is? It’s not some classy thing. It’s a simple cordon bleu with Gouda cheese and... pig.”

Poor Franklyn. But to tell the truth... he somewhat deserved being manipulated. No one is allowed to flirt with my sexy alpha Hannibal and the end – at least the end _I_ had in mind – justifies the means. Speaking of Hannibal. It was strange to call him by his first name, even in my own head. But since I started I could just as well stick with it. The next day, I bought some items and I did another little breaking. That was when the sweater came in. I used it to scentmark Hannibal’s basement. And then... well, then I took one of the people steaks, cut it open, put a lovely slice of Gouda in it and arranged it on a plate. I put the plate on his surgical/butchering table beside a candle and a red rose. But to drive someone crazy, you have to influence them in all possible parts of their lives. That’s why I went to the master bedroom and replaced his slippers with exactly the same – albeit one seize smaller. I took the book from the bedside table and stuck the bookmark into the next chapter. I exchanged the toothbrush in his bathroom with one of the same model though in a different color. Seriously, who spends 20 bucks one a toothbrush? Although his attractively crooked sharp teeth which would be perfect to sink in my (or anyone’s, I didn’t care!) bonding gland certainly deserved special care. Eventually, I went to the kitchen to fill salt in his sugar shaker and left. I might have been a little shit, but let me say just one word: Encephalitis.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know the scene where Hannibal cries during the opera. And I simply couldn’t resist giving him Franklyn’s line about crying while listening to Michael Jackson. I will never be able to erase that picture from my mind. I hope you too. Sorry not sorry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys and gals! I’m so so sorry for the long delay! Stuff happened, you know, like real live stuff. But nothing bad. I got my master’s degree with 1,4. Yay. As a reward, I took a vacation in Greece and now I’m trying (emphasis on trying!) to learn a programming language. Me. Well...that escalated slowly ^^ And to be honest, I didn’t know how to continue. I thought I knew where I wanted to go with this fic, but well...  
> But now I’m finally here with a new chapter. There will be one last chapter and I hope I won’t make you wait so long again. Also... I’m very tired right now and I can’t formulate English sentences anymore. I’m sorry.

You probably think you know everything about scents and cries of distressed omegas, don’t you? Well, it _is_ biology’s tool for making one aware of his mate being in danger. But by no means is it a everyday occurrence of helpless little omegas crying for their alphas whenever they’re emotional unstable. Let me, as an unstable empath and profiling omega tell you: No. We don’t call for strong alphas because we bought the wrong fabric softener or shit like that. We are not heroines from a 19 th century romantic novel, nor damsels in distress needing to be saved by an aristocratic alpha in a shining armor and be taken to his castle (not even if it’s a Lithuanian castle).

I’ll tell you something they don’t teach you in secondary gender class: Alphas too can produce distress pheromones and sounds. And it’s much more likely that _they_ are the ones becoming panicked when their clothes aren’t soft enough. At least a certain alpha doctor would be thrown off if such a thing happened to him. Okay, okay, his clothes _are_ really soft and have those delicious alpha scent, but that’s not the point.

 

***

 

Anyway, it was very satisfying when a bitter scent hit my nose as soon as I opened the door to Hannibal’s waiting room, my appointment scheduled immediately after Franklyn’s. A wave of distressed alpha hit my nose as soon as he opened the door to see Franklyn off. Distressed alpha and very confused omega. Franklyn had a puzzled look on his face when he shook his psychiatrist’s hand. He seemed like he wanted to say something but I happily squeezed past him and into the office, pulling the doctor with me and shutting the door. Hannibal didn’t even comment on my rudeness.

 

Will fucking Grahamed. There’s no other way to describe the good doctor’s condition. He was sweaty, his hair, usually slacked back, was plastered to his forehead. I had to hide a smirk when I saw the interplay of emotions on his face and in his posture. Gone were the days of fucking micro expressions. Instead of walking to his usual chair, he sat down in mine. A Freudian slip if I ever saw one. And wasn’t it cute – an alpha searching for stability. After a minute or so he got up. Not because he’d noticed his mistake but to nervously pace up and down. He touched different pretentious, arty and expensive items on his tour through the room as if seeking stability in his familiar surroundings. He ran his trembling fingers through his hair to dominate them back into submission – not that I would have wanted to trade places with his hair and be dominated in submission by this long, strong alpha fingers. His jacket was wrinkled and he made a vain attempt to straighten it. His eyes were unfocused and he looked haunted. The usual grace in his movements was missing. I might or might not have imagined other ways to reduce him to this disheveled state. Anyway, he was very close to the real EncephalitisExperienceTM.

 

“Will, I apologize, I had a rather... disturbing conversation during my last appointment.”

 

I thought that I really owed Franklyn, this fairy godmother. Or I would have owed him if he hadn’t tried to hit on my alph... doctor.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“This is your hour, Will, I don’t want to occupy your time. It’s my duty as your doctor to...”

I interrupted him – shockingly rude! – before he could go on with some doctor-patient-relationship bullshit.

 

“Hanni... Dr. Lecter, we’re merely having conversations. You’re not my doctor and I’m not your patient. And I’m always happy to help a friend in need.”

 

And just to be clear about this, folks, I did NOT think about how he would help an omega friend in his biannual time of need! I was a man on a mission, for god’s sake.

 

Hannibal looked at me, almost pleading. “Have you ever had the feeling of loosing your grip on reality?”

 

I rolled my eyes internally. No, I hadn’t. I always found it to be completely sane to have a dead man and a ravenstag following you all the time. Someone to talk to who wouldn’t judge you and a cute fluffy animal to pet. One does feel absolutely grounded and calm with a fucking bonfire in one’s head.

 

“You mean between having Hobbs as a temporary roommate, shaking hands with a living mushroom garden and a brain melting into gray goo? Yeah, the thought that I might loosing it occurred to me.” I knew I should have been understanding and serious, but I just couldn’t bite back the sass.

 

The good doctor paled. “I have to apologize, Will.”

He wiped over his face with a shaky hand.

“Until now, I hadn’t known how terrible you must have felt.”

 

Yeah, well, it’s a little bit late for that, asshole, I thought.

 

Hannibal shook his head, sighed and shook his head again. “Franklyn was... he made innuendos about... things. Things I thought no one knew of. He even said he talked about it with other people. Apparently, they gave him recipes! When I was slightly shocked he said that he has whole books about... this, and that he took a class and that there are online communities discussing the best tools, methods and ingredients. I mean, I always thought I was the only one!”

 

It was so. damn. hard. to hide an evil smirk. I cleared my throat and put on my best therapist voice. “And how does that make you feel?”

 

Hannibal looked me in the eyes and he was very close to Winston’s expression when he is once again outrun by a squirrel and tries to tell me that it’s the world’s biggest injustice that he can’t climb.

 

“I thought I was above them, somehow special. An apex predator and extraordinary alpha but...” He snuffled. “If there are so many people out there doing the same, surely some of my acquaintances must be among them? But then why doesn’t anyone ever laugh about my puns? I thought them to be subtle yet ingenious. But I thought I was special and outstanding in many a things.”

 

He looked like a sad little puppy. Apparently, the _I’m so in control of everything and the personified sex appeal_ alpha wasn’t immune to uncertainty and self-depreciation. It was kinda cute. And well, he always smelled good. But the scent of the thoroughbred alpha mixed with insecurity and vulnerability? Damn it, _that_ was hot. He was outright _unstable_ , that cute little thing. And being his sole source of stability I had him twisted around my finger. He was completely and utterly helpless.

 

***

 

I suggested to drive him home as he was obviously not in a state to do so. And wouldn’t that be a shame if the Chesapeake Ripper would have been brought down by a car accident rather than by the smartest, most skilled FBI profiler? Through the whole drive he muttered almost inaudible scraps of conversation like _A Michael Jackson steak?_ and _Franklyn wouldn’t even fit in a murder onesie!_

 

I thought about bringing him to his hobby room and stab a metaphorical blade in his sanity by pretending that even I knew how to dismember and cook people. But as much as I wanted a payback for the whole encephalitis thing, I couldn’t bring myself to totally break him. As you are aware, dear reader, I have a perfectly working moral compass and therefore I couldn’t torture him in such a way. He was embarrassed enough by thinking that he’d never been special or clever at all. Do you think I had an internal discussion about the possibility of he being my true mate? What would make you belief that? Read too much trashy novels, huh?

Tell me, why should I want an alpha with muscular arms to carry me to bed? Why should I want a cannibal providing for me with the most delicious people food one has ever had? Why would I be interested in his perfectly shaped behind? I can walk on my own, there is always McDonald’s and if I want to see a sexy ass all I need is a mirror, thank you very much. You’re stereotypical beliefs about omegas always interrupt my narrative flow. Well, let’s continue.

 

It was no trouble at all to put him in his bed. For the sake of professionalism, I only took off his jacket and vest. Not that I would have been interested in how he looked beneath those layers anyway. But I have to be honest to you. I was at a point where I had to admit that my plan wasn’t as elaborated as I thought it to be. Now that I had him exactly where I wanted him – unstable, nearly sobbing and half naked in his bed – I noticed that I was at a loss about what to do next.

It had been fun to mess with the cute cannibal’s head, but... As he lay there in his bed I noticed that his scent had changed to something sad. It was still alpha, but he smelled somehow lost and utterly alone. And when he mumbled, already half asleep from exhaustion, _omega_ in a hushed voice... Well, what else could I have done than lay down beside him and gentle him to sleep, humming softly and releasing soothing pheromones?

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the final chapter. Hannibal will get some explanations, Will will get what he wanted (although he didn’t know what he’d wanted) and this fic will earn its mature rating – or not? Idk, I’m bad at rating.  
> I’d like to really really thank you for all your kudos, comments and bookmarks. I’m so happy and dumbstruck and could hop like a rabbit on speed. Or like Will when he gets a new puppy. Aww... I’d like to cuddle all of you but that would be creepy and so I’ll refrain from it. Or maybe not. Virtual, I send you virtual cuddles, okay? Sorry, I’m just a little bit hyped up <3

“Will?”

“Dr. Lecter?”

“I am tied to my bed.”

I sighed. Hannibal seemed to have gathered his wits back to a certain degree after a good night’s sleep. Not to mention the close proximity to a very nice omega. But still, he wasn’t back to his old self. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have stated the obvious. I got up from the chair from where I had been watching him all night. Well, maybe not _all_ night, I might have lain beside him for about two minutes (or maybe two hours). Just to make sure he wouldn’t prematurely wake up and free himself. I had needed time to think about my next actions.

“I think we should talk and I’d like to avoid being gutted while we have our conversation.”

“I don’t know what you are implying, dear Will. Let me help you. Maybe a little grounding exercise? Your name is William Graham, you are in Baltimore, Maryla...”

I sighed and leaned forward. “Hannibal? You are an asshole.”

He flinched at the swear word, but otherwise kept still.

“And I’m not even talking about the whole encephalitis experiment. Yeah, of course I know that you knew. And this is precisely the point, You think you are so smart, don’t you? You cocky little shit. Was there even one time that you really meant it when you blathered about my ability to see? Because damn it, I saw you. I mean... all those shitty puns – are you serious?”

He stared at me for a while, all but dropping his jaw. I raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

And the cannibal actually had the cheek to look annoyed! He made a low, dangerous growl.

“First of all, my puns are excellent. They are the highest form of humor. But it seems that one needs a certain degree of aestheticism to really appreciate them. Secondly, I can assure you, I have never lied when I praised your abilities, your astuteness, your strength or your ethereal beauty.”

That was when I noticed, that the thermostat must be broken. Because I got really hot and my face reddened.

“Oh come on, all those innuendos about cannibalism? It was merely a matter of time until someone drew the connection to the Chesapeake Ripper!”

“And this someone would be you, I assume? But you didn’t stop at drawing connections, did you? No, you let Franklyn, an abomination of a patient, in my home, let him touch my possessions and let him put his scent everywhere. Do you even know how hard it is to prepare the perfect tenderloin if one has to sneeze all the time?”

Oh now, _that_ made me angry. As if I would _ever_ let Franklyn in Hannibal’s private area.

“Ha! The infamous Chesapeake Ripper doesn’t seem to be clever at all. Do you really think I would let someone know you the way I know you? This is between you and me, _doctor_. I used his sweater to sully your basement with his scent. Add a little manipulation here and there to an obsessed patient’s mind and voila: There we have an unstable psychiatrist, a serial killer as disarranged as the items in his hobby room and an unhappy alpha seeking comfort in his omega’s arms!”

 He was actually pouting, like murderous pouting. I hadn’t known that this is even a thing. Maybe it had something to do with his lips, because he pouted with his upper lip. His very kissable upper lip. But then his expression changed from anger to delight to utter devotion, his voice only a little bit smug.

 “ _His_ omega? Oh my lovely mongoose, I have never been able to entirely predict you. You have exceeded my highest hopes and expectations. Tell me, was it planned from the beginning to lure me in? Or is your attraction to me just a byproduct? Either way, it’s an enjoyable outcome, don’t you think?”

This bastard just couldn’t shut up, now could he? He tried to turn the tables even while laying tied up in front of an FBI profiler who just had revealed his cannibalistic serial killing identity. Not to speak of the fact that said profiler had manipulated said killer nearly into insanity. There was only one solution to stop the self-congratulating alpha. I lent forward and claimed his mouth with my own.

 

***

 

Oh the hell with it. Now that I am writing this I have to grudgingly admit, that, yes, I had a little crush on the doctor. Yes, I found him goddamn hot, might have done so for some time, maybe even since our very first meeting. There, are you happy now? It’s always easier to perceive things if you aren’t involved. But you can shove your self-congratulation back up your ass, because no matter how smart you might think you are: Not you, but I was the one to experience mind-blowing (not to mention cock-blowing) sex with a thoroughbred alpha. Never had this? Well, your loss!

Let’s get cleared up with another of your little prejudices about omegas. Yes, we love getting fucked and knotted. And I’m no exception. But this doesn’t mean that we can’t appreciate being on top as well. Especially if you have an apex predator and alpha – not to mention a thoroughbred one – beneath you. Alphas don’t talk about it, it’s kinda taboo. But hey, how do you think does sex between to male alphas work? Don’t tell me your are that heteronormative. They do the do just like any other couple. They are biological not able to knot, because a knot is only induced by omegas’ pheromones. And they can thank god, or rather the evolution, for this. Would be a little painful for an alpha to take a knot (Although some like this too, but it needs a lot of prep. Thank god I’m an omega). And if this isn’t an evidence that alpha/alpha-sex is absolutely natural than I’ve never seen an evidence before.

But enough of alpha/alpha-sex. Let’s talk about Will/Hannibal-sex.

Of course I got slick after the third kiss, maybe after the second. Okay, okay, after the first one. During. During the very long, very sensual first kiss. But slick can be used on an alpha as well. Well, what do you wanna hear? That I got him wet and open? That he made the sweetest sounds when I pushed into him? That he begged me to fuck him harder, faster and, eventually, to let him come? That he was so soft and pliant after we both were sated, that he snuggled up to my chest? Damn, I should’ve filmed it. All his painstakingly crafted person suits torn away by me. A superior, thoroughbred alpha laying sated and docile in a cunning omega’s arms – hell yeah! But I couldn’t have done such a thing. If anyone was ever to watch it, I would have to kill them. Hannibal is mine, soul and mind as much as body, especially when naked and in the throes of pleasure.

Talking of being mine: Our bonding wasn’t long after this little revelation. My next heat rushed up a few days later, probably triggered by Hannibal’s providing and touching and not so furtively scent-marking me... goddammit that scent. And because you, dear readers, a probably self-pleased little shits, I will admit: Yes, it was like you imagine it to be in your dirty fantasy. I _needed_ , fuck how I _needed_. I felt like combusting from within. I was clumsy and pawed at him, not able to undress him, weak and feral at the same time, begging to be fucked and mated, slick soaking everything. But in my defense: He wasn’t in a much better condition when he fell into his rut. I couldn’t stop, didn’t even feel satisfied when he mounted me like a savage beast and took what was _his_. After what felt like a blink of an eye and yet also like an eternity, he pulled out, turned me around faster than I could protest about the sudden emptiness, and entered me again. And then he bit me and I, of course, bit back, completing our bond. And of course he knotted me and pumped me full with his fertile alpha seed – that’s what you wanted to hear, isn’t it? Little pervs! But what truly soothed my need, soothed both our ache, was the connection that grew with the bound between an omega and his alpha, an alpha and his omega. It’s fucking amazing. When we were able to see the other before, now we are able to feel each other, down to the core. Hell, I even started to understand why Hannibal does all this puns towards his clueless guests. It feels _so_ good. Still, they are shitty, but it’s kinda funny nevertheless. I mean... _I’d love having you for dinner_. Ambiguity? Got it? You think about being invited, he thinks about eating you? Admit it, you had to giggle as well. Aww... my husband is so damn smart. And murderous. And hot. And sappy. And that ass!

 

***

 

Well, that’s it. I’m happy now, more than I ever thought I could be, and so is Hannibal. I can see it and feel it and, unfortunately, hear it whenever he starts to recite some mythological bullshit about us being Achilles and Patroclus. He was over the moon when I moved in. Of course, there are things annoying him. Dog hair on the couch for example, or finding wrappings of delicious salted caramel peanut butter chocolate bars in our bed, or his cassata alla siciliana being called fancy-ass pie. But you would be surprised how much arguments can be won with a little purring and fluttering omega eyelashes. And if he still doesn’t shut up about one thing or the other, there’s always the arm lock. After all, I’m a trained cop and almost FBI agent. Even a bad-ass cannibal can’t stay on the floor for hours. He always gives in eventually. We hunt together, mock the FBI together. He still runs his office and I still consult. Alana is still a bit pissed because she didn’t get the hottest alpha on earth. Jack is happy, because he thinks being bonded keeps me stable (or at least as stable as a Will Graham can be) to catch all his pitiful wanna be killers. And team sassy science is happy, because they are a bunch of saps – but a nice bunch, despite cross-examining me about Hannibal’s anatomical details.

***

Hannibal had always wanted to elude the FBI, to be smarter than anyone. He wanted to manipulate me, to satisfy his curiosity about burning brains of and darkness in sexy omega profilers. See, you can’t always get what you want, neither can Hannibal. But I can. After all, it was my intention to bring him down. And when I look up from my laptop right know and see him sitting on the floor, desperately trying to save his slippers from buster – well, I think I can say I succeeded.

The only thing left to do now is to repeat the question I asked you at the beginning: Do you still think that omegas are weak little things? If so, you are very welcome to visit us, Hannibal, me and our nine dogs (as I said, he always gives in eventually) in Baltimore to discuss this topic. We have a lovely basement for those sorts of conversations.

 


End file.
